


Werewolf at Your Door

by TheWizardHowl



Category: Sanders Sides, Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Autistic Logic | Logan Sanders, I just started writing, M/M, this gets weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWizardHowl/pseuds/TheWizardHowl
Summary: Virgil shuddered, and looked up. The clouds had finally parted, and the moon was a disk of perfect white against the sky. Virgil looked up at it, and his vision swam. The pain began, intense and hot and somehow invigorating despite Virgil’s overwhelming panic against it. He should be used to it, he knew, but the change was never easy. His vision blurred and the sound of bones shifting and snapping into place overwhelmed everything else until finally he stood on all fours, his clothes torn away, and instead a thick coat of grey fur protected him from the cold.The forest was a different place as a wolf, and Virgil breathed it in, and knew immediately he had no time. His siblings were already close, and he could smell their scents on the wind. He left his duffel bag on the ground where it had fallen during the transformation and justran.Virgil runs away from home, but his pack mates-- including his pack leader and brother Lukas-- have other ideas. But Virgil is far from the weirdest thing in town, and things are about to get messy for everyone.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, I'm figuring this out as I go - Relationship, Maybe LAMP later
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	1. Virgil: Running

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in forever, so this has been a nice change. Feedback appreciated.

Virgil felt the panic he’d been pushing away rise inside his chest. He was running at full speed now— he knew the forest well enough that even in the dark he could avoid the branches and twisting roots of the trees— and his heart beat inside his head like it was trying to break out. He’d grown up in this forest just as much as he’d grown up in the home he was fleeing. Maybe more. This was the forest he had explored. These were the trees he had played in. This was the place he had first killed in. He pushed that last thought away, and focused on the steady sound of his feet hitting the forest floor. It was just a little further, he knew. He would break through the last of the trees soon. 

Soon his family would realize he was gone, if they hadn’t already. His sister Juliet would go to his room and find it empty. He could see her face in that moment, a look of growing understanding mixing with grief and fear. Understanding that he had left her to fend for herself. Fear and grief for Virgil, who would one way or another never come home again. 

His foot caught something in the dark, and he stumbled forward. He picked himself up and paused, listening, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heart beating out of control in his chest. His vision was tunneling before him, until he could only make out the path in front of him. The wall was nearby. He knew it was. For a second his whole being seemed to convulse from panic, and he had to stop and lean against the trunk of a nearby tree to stay upright as he shook.

Somewhere behind him a howl broke the night air. Virgil bit back a sob of fear, and froze. Around him the wind made the trees creak and as they did another howl joined the first. Then another. And another. Virgil counted them, and knew each the second the sound reached him. The first had been his brother and pack leader, Lukas, full of rage and bloodlust. His howl had been a call for a hunt. Virgil, he knew, was the prey. His other siblings— Marcus, Sophie, Verne— had joined in too. The oldest of his siblings after Lukas. Their howls lacked joy or grief, but resounded dutifully after Lukas’. They would tear his meat from his bones, the howls told him, because that was what their pack leader told them to do. No hard feelings, bro.

Virgil shuddered, and looked up. The clouds had finally parted, and the moon was a disk of perfect white against the sky. Virgil looked up at it, and his vision swam. The pain began, intense and hot and somehow invigorating despite Virgil’s overwhelming panic against it. He should be used to it, he knew, but the change was never easy. His vision blurred and the sound of bones shifting and snapping into place overwhelmed everything else until finally he stood on all fours, his clothes torn away, and instead a thick coat of grey fur protected him from the cold. 

The forest was a different place as a wolf, and Virgil breathed it in, and knew immediately he had no time. His siblings were already close, and he could smell their scents on the wind. He left his duffel bag on the ground where it had fallen during the transformation and just _ran_. 

He had forgotten the joy of running as a wolf. It had been too long, and his wolf’s legs felt atrophied and thin but they still carried him. Around him the world blurred as he barreled through the trees until finally the trees ended. The wall came into view. It circled the entire Sturm property line, a wall of solid concrete eight feet high. It kept the humans from looking in, and until tonight it had kept Virgil from leaving. That was about to change. The howling behind him picked up in force and fury, but Virgil was focused: he leapt to a nearby tree, scrambled up the side of the trunk, steadied himself on a heavy branch, and with a forceful leap went over the wall. He landed awkwardly, his front legs complaining from the force, before stumbling to his feet.

In front of him was a road. Four lanes of concrete and no cars in sight. In eight hours there would be rush hour traffic, but now it was abandoned. Ghostly. Virgil picked himself up, and ran. He had rarely left the territory in the last few years, but he knew the town was close. If he could get there, find shelter, and wait for sunrise then maybe he could get to the bus station when it opened. Maybe he could get out. Maybe—

Another howl, only this one not muffled by the trees, and incredibly close. They were here. He could hear them scrambling up the trees to find their own way over. Virgil didn’t turn to look, didn’t need to know what his brother’s fury looked like in wolf form. Instead he pivoted from the road into the trees on the far side, away from his family’s land. He had lost the home advantage, and as he ran branches snagged at his fur and roots hit his paws. The howls faded for a second, now with just a slight hesitation to them— maybe he had lost them? Then his paws hit mud and he skidded, fell, and rolled downhill until he hit the bark of nearby tree with a thud. 

For a second his vision went white until finally the world came back into focus. The world was quiet— there wasn’t even the sound of crickets or birdsong, Virgil realized. He struggled to get to his feet.

“What do we have here?” said a voice that sounded all together too cheerful. Virgil tried to turn to face them, and found himself face to face with a human. Masculine, although the flowers strung through his hair might have suggested otherwise. A dark felt cloak embroidered with yellow-stitch runes along the edge was pulled up over his head, hiding part of his face. The eye Virgil could see twinkled in the moonlight. Something ran itself over Virgil’s fur— a hand, he realized. It felt unnaturally warm against his fur, but comforting. Virgil’s fear seemed to retreat into a fog, as if the panic was just numbed. 

The figure reached out and scratched Virgil behind his ear, a too-wide grin spread across his face. “Why it seems a pup has found my little glade.”

It was then that Virgil realized the human’s smile was marred by fangs. He let out a weak growl and shook off the stranger’s hand. The stranger just tutted, and went back to petting his fur.

“Now, you don’t need to be so rude. You are my guest after all,” the figure said, his grin never fading. “I tell you what. I’ll delay your little problem…. and you’ll owe me one.” 

Virgil stared at him. Strange woodland creature or not, if his sibling caught him he would be dead. He needed to flee. Every instinct told him to run, but those instincts felt far away and dull. There was something about the stranger’s voice. When he spoke the fear inside him took a step back. In the distance, a triumphant howl went up. One of them had found Virgil’s scent. Virgil looked up at the stranger, and nodded. Deal. 

The figure winked, and his smile grew. “Deal made. Now run along.”

Virgil didn’t need to be coaxed. He bolted from the clearing. Within a few seconds he had picked up his previous pace, and despite himself the stranger began to slip from his brain as the fear took its rightful place.

He made it over the side of a hill, and stopped. Below him the city glittered in a thousand shades of light. Bright white light from grocery store parking lots and the yellow lights of suburban streetlamps, the steady stream of headlights from the highway, the soft glow from the window of the occasional insomniac— It looked beautiful, and Virgil’s chest ached to see it closer. He was almost there. 

_So close so close so close_ — and then a shape detached from the darkness ahead of him. He immediately recognized his sister Sophie’s dark coat in the moonlight. He started backward, up the hill, and froze. For a long second they stared at each other, Sophie’s gaze entirely unreadable in the dark. Neither could speak as wolves, but Sophie held Virgil’s gaze for a long second and he saw grief, longing, and sadness. Then, without warning, she turned and padded back into the forest. As she walked Sophie pulled back her head and let out a long, mournful howl, one that told the rest of the pack that she had found nothing. 

Virgil’s heart beat with joy and fear and relief, and his paws kicked off the ground with enough force to scatter pebbles and dirt in every direction. He ran at full speed down the hill, and the lights of the town below grew and grew until he could make out individual rooftops. It started to rain slightly, really just a drizzle, and Virgil had to smother the need to let the howl of joy forming in his throat out into the night air. He was so close, he was so close.

He reached the bottom of the hillside and skidded onto the pavement of a residential street. Around him he could see the darkened windows and freshly mowed lawns of dozens of suburban houses all with their lights out. All the humans, safe in bed. He stood there for a second, taking it in and trying to figure out his next move, when he heard the sound of branches breaking behind him. 

He turned, but it was too late. Lukas was upon him.


	2. Roman: The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he did he could just barely make out the wolf—too huge to be anything natural, he knew at once— that paused as it stepped hesitantly out on to the street. It turned it’s head back and forth and studied the street. It didn’t seem to have noticed Roman yet. Roman kept his eyes trained on it while he reached blindly to the passenger seat beside him where his shotgun sat propped up just out of view. 
> 
> In the second it took for him to slide the shotgun over, everything changed. While the first wolf had been large, it was nothing compared to the shape that detached itself from the shadows next. This beast dwarfed the car he sat in, yet closed the distance between it and the other wolf within seconds. In the time it took Roman to suck in a breathe it had the smaller wolf on the ground, pinned beneath its claws. Its jaws opened to show rows of glistening yellowed teeth that Roman had no time to study before it bit into the smaller form beneath it.

Roman turned off the police scanner, cranked down the driver’s side window, leaned his head out the side of his pickup truck, and listened. 

The night air was cool, and it had just begun to drizzle ever so slightly, but he ignored the rain. He did these patrols enough to know that tonight would most likely result in nothing. Most nights he just drove around town until his exhaustion forced him back home and into bed. Tonight though, he was working on a tip from a friend, and one he trusted. 

So he’d parked his pickup truck at the suburban intersection he’d been given, and had sat and watched as the sun set and one by one each of the windows in the nearby houses went dark. By one in the morning it was just him sitting in the cab of his rusted, piece of shit pickup truck listening to the buzz of the police scanner. 

He had heard something though. With the scanner off he could hear the sound better, as it rattled off the nearby hills. Howls. Wolves most likely, as they weren’t unheard of in the nearby forest. They sounded distant, but as he listened the sound grew steadily closer. He was so intently listening that he almost didn’t notice the shape that broke free of the tree line just a few houses down. 

When he did he could just barely make out the wolf—too huge to be anything natural, he knew at once— that paused as it stepped hesitantly out on to the street. It turned it’s head back and forth and studied the street. It didn’t seem to have noticed Roman yet. Roman kept his eyes trained on it while he reached blindly to the passenger seat beside him where his shotgun sat propped up just out of view. 

In the second it took for him to slide the shotgun over, everything changed. While the first wolf had been large, it was nothing compared to the shape that detached itself from the shadows next. This beast dwarfed the car he sat in, yet closed the distance between it and the other wolf within seconds. In the time it took Roman to suck in a breathe it had the smaller wolf on the ground, pinned beneath its claws. Its jaws opened to show rows of glistening yellowed teeth that Roman had no time to study before it bit into the smaller form beneath it. 

A howl of pain shook the air, and Roman was out of the car. He had the shotgun up and aimed before he had time to even consider his actions. The fur on the wolf in front of him exploded outward from the force of the shotgun blast, and it howled in pain and fury before turning to face him. All at once Roman understood the mistake he had made. The shotgun blast had barely scrapped the skin from its back, and the beast’s eyes had only blood lust in them. It opened its mouth into what looked almost like a wide grin. It’s teeth glistened with blood. 

Roman reached down for the second set of shotgun shells in his jacket, and just managed to get them in and fire again before the beast was upon him. He leapt back, and fired at it pointblank as the jaws closed around the space where he’d been a second before. It screamed in pain as the skin on its face exploded into a bloody mist. Close range seems to do a bit more harm, Roman’s brain dutifully noted as the rest of him screamed in a rush of panic and adrenaline. In the second it hesitated from pain, Roman dropped the shotgun and leapt backwards— just in time to avoid the beast’s jaws— and reached to the back of his pickup truck. His fingers found exactly what he was looking for. 

The creature surged forward again, and this time its teeth sank into Roman’s leg with a crunch. Roman was torn forward and off his feet. His head cracked against the pavement and the world went bright white for a horrible second— but his fingers still clutched what he needed: his crossbow. 

The beast began to drag him forward, his blood leaving a slick trail behind him. Roman ignored the pain and steadied the already loaded crossbow at the beast’s head. It seemed to register the weapon just as he released the bolt. 

It sank into the beast’s shoulder, missing his face by inches, and immediately the creature’s hold on his leg was gone as it let out a howl of unspeakable pain. Roman made a mental note that yes, silver was effective against werewolves. Melting down the family silverware had been a good decision after all. He loaded another silver tipped crossbow bolt, and before the beast could recover sunk another one into its’ stomach. It screamed with pain, and shuddered backward and away. Roman loaded a third bolt while he pulled himself upright, but by the time he had the bolt loaded and went to aim the creature had already fled. Across the street the trees shook as it ran through them, and Roman watched the dark shape flee up the hill until it ran entirely out of sight. 

He sighed, and almost dropped the crossbow from relief. He paused for a second to check the leg, and winced at the blood already pooling from it. That would need stitches. It was in that moment, as he caught his breathe, that a small whimper reminded him of the form on the pavement. He clutched at his crossbow and hobbled over to it. 

The beast had torn a chunk of the wolf’s fur and flesh from its shoulder. It was bleeding, and clearly in no shape to move. Roman stood over it for a long moment, considering the loaded crossbow in his hand. Werewolves. He had known they might be a possibility, had run into things already in his short monster hunting career that were much more dangerous and stranger than even this. Still he knew that like any creature of night, werewolves were monsters. Killers. Animals. Any one of them left alive meant innocent deaths down the road. He steadied the crossbow and aimed for the wolf’s head. It would be fast and painless. The silver would make sure of it. 

Before he could pull the trigger the shape beneath him began to change. In the quiet night he could clearly hear the sound of bones cracking as they shifted and settled into another form, and as he watched the fur retracted leaving pale skin. The wolf’s muzzle pulled in and fangs melted away, and when the transformation was complete Roman stood over the form of a person. They were covered in their own blood— the wound had carried over, although Roman could see that it had hit nothing vital— and entirely unconscious. Roman watched as their chest rose and fell in small pained breathes. 

When he tried to raise it again the crossbow shook in his hands.

He sighed and lowered it. He couldn’t do it. Like a coward, he was still too afraid to pull the trigger. He glanced around, and watched as the lights in nearby houses began flickering on. Clearly the howling, if not the shotgun blasts, had woken people. He needed to move. He reached down and pulled the figure into his arms, and a shiver ran through him when he realized how little they weighed. 

Then he turned, and with the thin frame in his arms began hobbling back to his car.


	3. Patton: A Good Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was then that he noticed the door to the garage. Normally it would be shut and locked, as that part of the auto repair shop held the things Roman would rather Patton not see. But Patton wasn’t clueless. He knew what Roman was doing out at night, and he had an idea of the weapons and supplies he had stockpiled. 
> 
> The door was ever so slightly ajar, and the heavy lock that usually kept it shut sat on the kitchen counter. Roman must have been exhausted, if he forgot to put it back. Patton felt a familiar and inexplicable pull in his gut. He needed to see what was on the other side of the door. The universe had spoken, and Patton’s own curiosity agreed. His hands pushed the door open slowly. It groaned quietly, and Patton glanced over his shoulder towards the waiting room, where Roman slept. He could hear Roman’s quiet snores from here. 
> 
> Ignoring the part of himself that felt a rising sense of shame for what he was about to do, Patton pushed the rest of the way in. In a previous life the garage could have held three three cars at once, and all the tools needed for repairing cars— the lifts, the tool boxes, the machinery— were still there if under a coat of rust. That wasn’t what caught Patton’s eye. 

Patton pulled his car into Roman’s parking lot and turned off the ignition. Roman’s rusted pickup truck was the only other vehicle there, but that was hardly surprising. The automobile shop had, in the long forgotten past, belonged to Roman’s father but no one’s car had been serviced there in years. After the funerals, when Roman had started selling everything his family had owned, that had included the family home. He had once told Patton, in the rare moment when he would talk about it, that he couldn’t bear to go inside that house again. Sleeping there was entirely out of the question. So now instead Roman called the auto repair shop his home. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but Patton would never point that out.

Instead he made it a point to check in on his friend when he could. He brought gallons of food and ignored the fact that Roman could never get his tubberware back to him. He sat at Roman’s stained and splintered dining table and they talked about the good old days, being so very careful to avoid certain topics of conversation. 

Patton sighed, and opened the car door. It was a chilly fall day, but the cold felt exhilarating. He grabbed the bagged tubberware and opened Roman’s door with his key. At one time the entry had been a dingy, somewhat greasy waiting room. It was still recognizable as such. The receptionist’s tiny desk still sat by the entrance, decade old paperwork scattering the top of it under a thick layer of dirt. However, instead of a line of uncomfortable chairs across from it, a torn and stained sofa sat in the corner. Roman was asleep there, a blanket pulled up over his head. 

It was much too late in the day to be sleeping. He must have gone out on patrol last night. Patton wondered if anything had come from the tip he had given him. His visions weren’t always the most reliable, but despite it being nothing but an address and a deep nagging feeling something had told Patton it was important. He had pressed the address into Roman’s hands and told him to be careful. 

Patton sat his things down, and wandered the hallway and into the tiny space that passed for a kitchen— once an employee break room— where he set the tubberware in the dented and ancient fridge there. Roman could find it when he woke. 

It was then that he noticed the door to the garage. Normally it would be shut and locked, as that part of the auto repair shop held the things Roman would rather Patton not see. But Patton wasn’t clueless. He knew what Roman was doing out at night, and he had an idea of the weapons and supplies he had stockpiled. 

The door was ever so slightly ajar, and the heavy lock that usually kept it shut sat on the kitchen counter. Roman must have been exhausted, if he forgot to put it back. Patton felt a familiar and inexplicable pull in his gut. He needed to see what was on the other side of the door. The universe had spoken, and Patton’s own curiosity agreed. His hands pushed the door open slowly. It groaned quietly, and Patton glanced over his shoulder towards the waiting room, where Roman slept. He could hear Roman’s quiet snores from here. 

Ignoring the part of himself that felt a rising sense of shame for what he was about to do, Patton pushed the rest of the way in. In a previous life the garage could have held three three cars at once, and all the tools needed for repairing cars— the lifts, the tool boxes, the machinery— were still there if under a coat of rust. That wasn’t what caught Patton’s eye. 

What caught Patton’s eye was the cage. It stood just a little taller than Patton’s head, and where it met the ground it looked like Roman had laid concrete to keep the bars in place and soldered the steel together where the bars crossed. Inside, lying on what looked like a green army cot, was a figure wrapped in bandages. 

The pull in Patton’s gut intensified, and become less of suggestion and more of an urgent command. Patton found himself kneeling next to the cage— how long had it been here?— and peering that the figure. He had a strange urge, impossible to rationalize, to reach between the bars and touch the person sleeping there. For some reason he was sure he would find fur. Instead he studied their face. The long thin and crooked nose, which looked like it had been broken and then poorly set. The unkept and greasy hair. His eyes roamed the stranger’s face, taking in the faint scar along the corner of their lip and the dirt that seemed to cover everything before returning to the closed eyes— and finding them open and staring back.

Patton yelped and jumped backward, but it was too late. He had already looked, and could feel the familiar pull of his gift.

The stranger had moss green eyes with flecks of deep brown. They were warm, but fierce somehow. Patton was lost in them. His breath left his body, and quickly he couldn’t feel his body at all. Everything else fell away. Within his eyes— and Patton knew right away the figure was in fact a he— Patton saw something pacing like a beast within a cage. Not angrily, Patton knew without question, but with the grief of an animal that longed to be free. Longed to run and hunt the way it knew by instinct. 

Patton felt his viewpoint shift, and then phase through the brown of the stranger’s eye until he and the wolf stood face to face. Or face to muzzle. The creature eyed him with a look that was less hostile and more cautious. Curious. Patton found himself, in a daze, reaching out to the wolf’s fur. The creature flinched back, bared its teeth— and Patton froze with his hand out. Did not move. Terror washed over Patton in waves, but it wasn’t his own. The beast was terrified, and he could feel it from where he stood. He waited. 

The beast’s growl slowly subsided, and he eyed Patton. Studied him. Patton held perfectly still and waited. Vision time often worked strangely, so it was difficult to tell if it took minutes or hours for the growling to still entirely. The wolf studied Patton, and then reached out and sniffed his open hand. It paused, and seemed to come to a decision. It leaned into the open palm, and Patton began to run his hand along his fur. 

“Your coat is very soft,” Patton whispered, delighted. The wolf shrugged.

Patton ran his hand further down the wolf’s— down Virgil’s shoulders. Virgil’s name came to him as easily as his pronouns now. It felt nice. Peaceful. Then his hand reached the wolf’s back and he felt the scars. 

“Oh, hon,” Patton whispered. Virgil turned to study him. Patton’s hand felt further down Virgil’s back, and the scar tissue was there too— bumps and thick scarred lines of skin. “I’m so sorry,” Patton whispered, but the wolf wasn’t listening. Virgil had turned and was looking at something over Patton’s shoulder, and a steady growl— almost a whine— came from between his bared teeth. 

Patton turned, but in that moment the vision ended. He was laying on his back on the cold, greasy concrete of the garage. He sat up, and his entire head throbbed for a second as he turned to look at Virgil. His eyes were shut again, as if sleeping. 

“What the FUCK are you doing in here.”

Patton winced, and turned. Roman stood in the doorway, one hand holding a crossbow Roman quickly pointed at the ground. He was angry. Patton could feel it coming off of him, and the anger was tinged with genuine fear— for Patton?— that made Patton feel nauseous. 

“Sorry, the door was unlocked—“ Patton began, but then remembered. “Wait. No. Roman, what is this?” Patton turned and pointed at the cage. “Since when do you have a CAGE in your garage?”

Roman shrugged in a poor attempt at nonchalance. “I made it just in case of an emergency— and look, it’s coming in handy.”

Patton turned to look at the very unconscious Virgil. White bandages, stained a brownish red, wrapped around his torso and down to his stomach. His face and arms were coated in sweat, dried blood, and grime. Underneath it all he looked downright skeletal. 

_“Coming in HANDY?”_ Patton felt his voice start to rise, and Roman’s eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped slightly. He went to stutter a reply, but Patton cut him off. “ARE YOU _KIDDING_ ME? Virgil looks like he was hit by a car. What is he going to do to you, Roman? Make a biting remark?”

Roman eyes grew wider. “You know his name. You looked in his eyes.”

Patton hesitated then, suddenly winded. “Yeah,” he admitted, “Not on purpose. I was looking, and then he was just… looking back.”

Roman seemed suddenly excited. “Wait, did you learn anything else? Where he’s from? How many there are of them?”

Patton was suddenly very tired. “How many of what there are, Roman?”

“Werewolves. One of them did this to me—“ and Roman pulled up his pant leg to show a bandaged leg— “before I managed to scare it off. It was huge, Pat.”

“Roman, we’re still not done talking about the cage.”

Roman shrugged. “It’s necessary. This one might be smaller than the other, but that doesn’t mean I get to underestimate it.”

Patton gritted his teeth. “Not an it, _he_. Virgil’s a whole person who happens to also be a wolf. Sometimes.” Patton eyed the crossbow that Roman still clutched in one hand, and Roman quickly followed his gaze. He unloaded the crossbow and set it down on the ground with a sigh. There was a moment of silence as Roman studied the sleeping form before returning Patton’s gaze.

“Padre, you’ve never steered me wrong, but—“ Roman began, and Patton grunted in strong agreement. “But. I don’t know who… _he_ is. And the other one, the larger one, nearly cut a piece out of me. I nearly died last night.”

Patton turned to look at Virgil again. He looked so small. Patton’s voice sounded weak when he spoke next. “I’m guessing that this is what happened when you went to the address I gave you from my vision?” He paused for a moment, and then continued, “Virgil’s wounds… did you do that?” 

As Roman shook his head Patton felt a bloom of relief in his chest. 

“The other werewolf did. A big one. I guess they had beef?”

Patton nodded and chuckled, “Well, I’m glad you weren’t a _chicken_ in the moment.” Roman groaned, and then Patton’s voice got serious again. “Roman, I need you to promise me right now that you’re not going to hurt this boy.”

Roman peered at Patton. “What did you see in your vision, Pat? You’re uh—” Roman gestured to his face, and Patton reached up and felt tears there. He’d been crying.

Patton wiped the tears away and didn’t respond right away. He could still feel the scar tissue under his fingers. “I… don’t think it’s my place to say, Roman. But Virgil has been through a lot. I don’t really know more than that something very bad has happened to him.”

Roman snorted. “Yeah, Padre. He nearly got disemboweled last night.” 

Patton turned and glared, looking Roman straight in the eye. Roman took a step back instinctively, his hands up as if to show he was unarmed. Patton turned, and walked straight to him, anger suddenly bubbling under his skin. He got up to Roman and backed him against the garage wall so that Roman had no place to look but directly in Patton’s eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded cold and entirely alien— as unlike Patton as it could get.

“I want to make something very clear, Roman. You are going to take care of Virgil. You are going to keep him safe, and healthy. You are going to feed him half of the spaghetti I just put in your fridge. You are going to make sure he drinks fluids and that his bandages get changed. Because if you do not—“ and here Patton leaned in so that his eyes were just inches from Roman’s— “if you do not, I will never. Ever. EVER. Speak to you. Ever again.”

Roman was silent, his eyes so wide they might pop out. He seemed frozen for a second as he absorbed the threat— and it was the closest Patton could ever get to a threat-- got through to him. And then he gave a small, quick nod of agreement.

Patton felt a wave of fear come off Roman, and immediately felt like poop. He had hurt his friend, but there was nothing to do about it now. He dusted himself off and stood back to give Roman breathing room. 

“Now, if you excuse me, I need to leave. I’m going to be late for a date.”

Roman seemed to regain his composure at that, as if everything clicked back into place. “Pat, don’t you think this—“ he waved to the cage— “is just a little more important than a _date?_ I could really use your help here, Padre, when it— when Virgil wakes up—“

Patton interrupted him. “When Virgil wakes up you’ll text me and I’ll come as fast as I can. This date is… pretty important.”

Roman raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Fine, and Patton…” Patton turned, eyebrow raised. “Thanks. For the food.” Then Roman turned and walked out of the garage, leaving Patton alone again. 

“No problem, kiddo.” Patton whispered. Then he turned and crouched next to the cage. He studied Virgil’s face for a second. Under the blood and the cuts, he looked so young. 

“Kiddo,” Patton started, “I get the feeling you might be faking right now. That you might not actually be asleep and you might have just heard all of that. Which is fine! Take your time waking up. But I want you to know that I’m going to come back for you, okay? Roman’s not a bad guy, just a little… angry. Passionate, more like. He forgets the important stuff sometimes. I’m going away for a few hours, but if you decide to wake up I’ll be back in a jiffy. You’re gonna be okay. Roman might act tough, but he’s not gonna hurt ya. Promise. Just hang tight, alright Virgil?”

The sleeping boy didn’t move, didn’t react. Still Patton nodded. “Right. Sleep tight. You’re gonna be alright.”

And then Patton stood, forcing himself to stand up and walk out of the garage. He turned out the lights on his way out. In the privacy of the dark, Virgil opened his eyes. 


End file.
